I Will Steer For You
by Sionnain
Summary: Ray will do a lot for Vecchio. Standing in line with him at the DMV, however, might just be pushing it.


**I will steer for you**

Ray took one look at the line at the Department of Motor Vehicles--a line which stretched from the counters in the front, snaked around the folding chairs, and ended right back by the double-doors—and groaned, loudly. "Did everyone decide to come here today?" Ray asked, looking over at Vecchio with a pained expression. "And does that mean we can come back tomorrow?"

"Can't," Vecchio said, looking through the papers he was holding. "Gotta work."

"They're open on Saturday," Ray suggested hopefully, smiling his best _wouldn't you rather go home and fuck?_ smile.

"Only one a month, and we gotta work 'cause it's this Saturday. Remember?" Vecchio looked up at him, distracted, and Ray sighed. He should have _known_ the let-me-trick-you-into-leaving-by-promising-sex thing wouldn't work. Not because Vecchio wasn't into it--Ray didn't get a lot of sleep because of how into it Vecchio _was_--but because outside, parked as far away as Vecchio could get from any other car, was a 1971 Buick Riviera. Vecchio's Riviera. Vecchio's finally-ready-to-drive-and-be-licensed-after-six-months-of-work Riviera.

Six months ago, Vecchio had stopped by Ray's apartment with a car magazine and a proposition. Not the kind that lead to blow jobs--they were just partners back then, cop-partners, the kind that _didn't_ make out in the supply closet at work--but the kind of proposition that involved Vecchio saying, "You want to drive to Indiana and back with me so I can check out this Riv?"

And Ray, who was still a little gunshy and twitchy and more inclined to want to punch Vecchio than go on a road trip with him (or so he thought), found himself shrugging and saying, "Yeah, sure, why not?"

So they went on the road trip--Ray insisted on taking the GTO--and it was a little weird, because they got along all right at work, but all the stuff between them--Stella, Fraser--it had nowhere to go when it was just the two of them and the open road, and so they'd had to deal with it. And they did it very methodically, almost grimly, facing each other across a tiny hotel-room table with some chips and two six-packs of beer. Ray had gotten a little drunk and Vecchio had stayed sober 'cause he didn't really drink that much, but they'd hashed it all out, and Ray had thrown a few things but none of them had been punches. It ended with Ray shaking Vecchio's hand and saying he understood about Stella, and then falling asleep with his clothes on and sleeping through the alarm.

And the next morning, Ray had been a little hung-over and decided, since he liked Vecchio now, that there was only really one way to get that across without sounding like a girl. So he'd tossed the keys to the GTO to Vecchio and said, "Wanna drive?"

Vecchio had grinned at him, caught the keys without missing a beat, and said, "Hell, yeah." And they'd driven in companionable silence with the windows down and in perfect accord with the music and life in general. And because they were buddies now, when Ray saw Vecchio's face fall at the condition of the Riv, he'd slapped him on the back and said, "I got tools, and I helped my dad fix up the GTO. We can do this," with absolute conviction.

"Yeah?" Vecchio hadn't sounded too convinced, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at the Riv with a calculated gaze. "Think so?"

"Yeah," Ray'd said, grinning back. "I think so."

Vecchio bought the car that day, using some pretty impressive skills to talk the guy into shipping the car to Chicago for only a little extra cash, and they spent the entire trip back deciding what kind of tools they'd need and going over the specs. They argued about _that_, of course, but it wasn't angry arguing, not like before. And then they started spending Saturdays together working on the Riv after it'd arrived in Chicago, and sometimes they'd go out for dinner or watch the game afterwards.

And then one night they'd been watching some dumb movie about the end of the world, and they just started _kissing_ like it really _was_, and that ended up with them both in bed and naked and doing things Ray had never done with a guy before, ever, but decided pretty quickly he'd like to do again as often as possible. They were pretty much together from then on out, and it was easier between them than Ray had ever thought it could be with anyone. They got along, and the sex was _fantastic_, and Ray was pretty much stupid in love and was really one-hundred precent okay with that.

He was _not_ one-hundred precent okay with being in the longest line in the universe with Vecchio, though. That was down to about fifty-percent and falling the longer they stood there. "Vec-chi-oooo," Ray whined, shifting his weight, avoiding looking at the number on the _Now Serving_ sign--_15_--and the one on their small piece of paper. _56_. "You can still drive it, y'know, it's not like anyone would actually give you a ticket even if they actually _noticed_--"

"Kowalski," Vecchio said, looking over at him with a fond smile. "We're _cops_. We can't just drive around unregistered vehicles and hope no one notices."

"Why not?" Ray asked him, bouncing on his heels. "Who are you, Fraser? You could make it like a game. You know. Avoid the cops. We know where all the speed traps are and when all the traffic cops are out to make quota."

"What about our _colleagues_, you moron? You gonna pay my fine when Huey writes me a ticket?"

Ray shrugged, still bouncing. "Huey doesn't fasten his seat belt! He's got no room to talk."

"Kowalski. How long has it been since we started working on this car?" Vecchio crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow at him. "Six months?"

Ray batted his eyelashes. "You asking when our anniversary is, baby?"

Vecchio snorted. "Like I don't know it. I've been married twice and grew up in a household full of women. I just meant--look. This is the last thing I gotta do for her to be all finished, y'know? Getting plates, getting it licensed. Means I really--_we_ really--did it. So, no, Stanley. We are not getting out of line, we are staying _right here_, and we are getting this done today. Then we are going somewhere to celebrate and _then_--you can actually do all the stuff you're gonna tell me you want to do to me to get me to change my mind. Okay?"

Man, Vecchio was good at that. Saying something kind of sweet even when he told Ray _no_. Ray had yet to work out a way around that, but he was trying. He huffed a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This is killing me, you know," Ray said conversationally.

Vecchio smiled at him. "Yeah," he said. "I know. Why do you think I brought you? I gotta have something to entertain me."

Ray glared hotly at him. "That's not buddies. Hey, why don't I go get us lunch?"

"You can't drive the car, it's not licensed."

"You drove it _here_," Ray said testily.

Vecchio's smile turned into a smirk. "I'd have to write you a ticket. Officer of the peace, and all that."

"Blow me."

"Like I said, when we get home." Vecchio turned his attention back to his papers, putting them in order for the thousandth time. "C'mon, we can...play Twenty Questions, or something."

"Sure," Ray said, slouching as much as he could possibly slouch while remaining upright. "What's being a dick, has no hair, and is probably gonna be the death of me?"

"Ha, ha. You're funny. That's not how you play Twenty Questions. I ask the questions, you just answer."

"Okay." Ray stared at Vecchio. "Go."

Vecchio sighed. "Is it me?"

"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?" Ray asked, rolling his eyes. "C'mon. Ask me some clues."

"Is it an asshole Italian in a suit?"

Ray cracked a smile at that. "Maybe."

"Only _yes_ and _no_ answers in Twenty Questions, Kowalski," Vecchio said, but his smile was the kind he gave Ray when he was finished sucking Ray's cock, or when he had Ray bent over the couch with his hand on the back of Ray's neck. Or when they caught each other at work with a few minutes to spend groping each other in the supply closet and Vecchio pulled away, knowing _just_ what he'd done to Ray and how Ray was now going to be thinking about things entirely unrelated to law enforcement for a good long while.

"Depends. We're here longer than forty minutes, yeah, you'll be the asshole Italian in a suit. We get out of here in twenty, and you never know. You might get to be my hot boyfriend who's gonna get lucky when he gets home."

"Thanks," Vecchio said, rolling his eyes heavenward, but he looked pleased. "Look, Kowalski. There's some signs on the wall. Maybe they'll teach you how to drive."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were the poster child for safe driving." Ray craned his neck around. "Nope, no picture of you on the wall. Though I do think that one over there might be Fraser."

Vecchio held his hands up. "Please, Stanley. Fraser might be okay actually _driving_, but he gets around my Riv and it blows up or ends up in a lake. As a matter of fact, when he gets here next month? We're taking _your_ car to pick him up from the airport. He can admire the Riv from a safe distance, and that's it."

"Maybe 'cause I helped you fix this one up, it's Fraser-proof," Ray offered, and laughed. "Only one way to know for sure...."

"Yeah? Really? You want to risk it, do you?" Vecchio bared his teeth at him, but his eyes were gleaming with amusement. "Then we gotta take another road-trip--"

"--hey, I had _fun_ on the last one--"

"--and we gotta fix it up again--"

"May I remind you, Vecchio, we wouldn't be having hot sweaty sex all the time if we hadn't bonded over fixing your car?" Ray really, really hoped the guy behind them had his headphones turned up loud enough to drown them out, and that the lady in front of them was too involved in her cell phone conversation to hear what they were saying.

"--and then we gotta come _here_ eventually, which will cut into the hot sweaty sex time," Vecchio finished. "You really want to wait in this line all over again?"

"I don't want to wait in it _now_," Ray groused, but he sighed and gave up the fight. Vecchio was right, they could just do this and then go home and it would be _done_. So Ray entertained himself by pretend-boxing with Vecchio, actually reading the signs on the walls (which were not about driving safety and were very, very boring) and then made Vecchio play _I Spy_ because it was easier than _Twenty Questions_, even if they were both pretty good at it, what with the being detectives and all.

And things were going fine, Ray was actually kind of proud of himself for not going insane and running outside screaming, and then--hallelujah--they called Vecchio's number. Ray followed him to the counter because he knew he couldn't sit still in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. And okay, maybe Vecchio had a point--this was something of theirs, something they'd done together, and yeah, maybe it meant something to do _this_ together, too.

Of course, that was before the woman gave a cursory glance at Vecchio's forms, pushed them back across the slick counter and said in a bored voice, "Sorry. These are the wrong forms. You're going to need to--"

"Wait, what?" Vecchio's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean they're the wrong forms? Look, I filled out everything your website said I needed!"

"You're missing a property tax voucher for last year."

"I was in _Florida_ last year," Vecchio said, his voice getting a little loud.

"Then you need a waiver, which you'll have to request from the Florida Department of Revenue." She craned her head, looking around Vecchio, as if waiting for the next customer.

"Look, I just--I don't get a lot of time off to come here, you know, so I kind of have to do this today." Vecchio gave the woman--Abby--a nice smile, his good-cop smile, and Ray leaned against the counter to watch the show. "I'm a cop. You think you could help me out, here, Abby?"

Abby's voice was flat. "Are you asking me for special treatment because you're a cop?"

"'Course not," Vecchio said, even though he very clearly _was_. "It's just...see, I've been waiting for a long time, and I--"

"--have better places to be," Abby finished. She gave Vecchio a tight smile. "I've heard it all before, sir. But there's nothing I can do for you. You're going to have to get the correct form and come back. We're open eight-to-four-thirty, Monday through Friday, and eight until noon on the first Saturday of the month. Next!" She reached out and flipped the number on the little screen to advance to _57_, and that was it. An hour and a _half_ wasted.

Ray tried very, very hard to be a Good, Supportive Boyfriend and not start laughing as he followed a very angry Vecchio out of the DMV and outside into the bright spring sunlight. Vecchio was cursing--mostly in Italian, which meant he was pretty pissed--and Ray came to a halt next to him as Vecchio switched back into English and started railing about taxes, the government, the Illinois Department of Revenue, and the Department of Motor Vehicles.

"--it's all just a _scam_, Kowalski, you know that, right? This whole _registering your vehicles_, it's bullshit! It's just a way for the State to make money without calling it a _tax_. Why the hell do they care if I paid property tax in _Florida_, what does that have to do with _anything_, what the hell does it have to do with my _car_?"

"Hey, Vecchio?" Ray interrupted, grinning, slipping on his sunglasses. He gave a low whistle and indicated the Riv. "Hell of a car, though, yeah?"

Vecchio stopped in mid-rant, looked at the Riv shining in the sunlight, and a smile broke over his face despite his anger. "Yeah, Kowalski. Hell of a car. We did good. C'mon, let's get out of here."

When they got back to Ray's apartment, Ray pushed Vecchio down on the couch and sucked his cock all eager and slow, drawing it out, doing everything he'd spent the last twenty minutes in line thinking about doing. And when Vecchio had his fingers twined tight in Ray's hair, muttering curses under his breath, Ray was pretty sure the words had nothing to do with the DMV or the Illinois Department of Revenue.

When he was finished, he sat back and grinned up at Vecchio, running his thumb slowly over his bottom lip.

"So, which is it?" Vecchio asked him, still panting for breath. "Am I the asshole Italian or your hot boyfriend? These things aren't mutually exclusive, you know that, right?"

Ray took a minute to appreciate the sight of Vecchio sprawled on the couch with his pants unbuttoned, jacket off, tie loosened and slightly askew, gold cross lying in the hollow of his throat. His face was flushed, his eyes all blurry as he stared down at Ray.

Ray rose to his feet, mostly graceful, considering he was getting a little too old to suck cock on his knees, and leaned down to kiss Vecchio. "What do you think?" he muttered against Vecchio's mouth, grinning before kissing him soundly, feeling Vecchio's hands settle on his hips.

"Bedroom, is what I think," Vecchio said hotly, giving him a little shove in that direction, and Ray lost whatever clever comeback he was planning to make on the walk there.

* * *

Later that night, Ray propped himself up and looked over at Vecchio, half asleep on his back next to him in bed. "Hey, Ray?" First names were Serious, first names meant I Am Telling You Something Important.

"Yeah?"

Ray reached out and drew his fingers lightly over the cross Vecchio was wearing. "I'll go. When you have to go back to the DMV? I'll go with you." And by that, he meant, _I know what you mean, about the Riv, I understand why you want me there._

Vecchio was quiet for a minute. "Yeah," he said softly. "Okay. Thanks."

Ray was quiet for a minute, then darted a look up at Vecchio's face. He grinned. "Maybe next time you should try bad-cop," he suggested, and then laughed as Vecchio rolled on his side and presented him with his back in a gesture that strongly resembled a flounce.

Ray yawned and shoved one arm under his pillow, moving closer, flinging an arm over Vecchio's side and pressing against him. "And I won't tell anyone you're driving an unregistered vehicle," he added, grinning. Vecchio didn't answer, but Ray was pretty sure he heard him anyway.


End file.
